Volume Three – Chapter Eleven.
“Was it Ghostly?”
“Was it ghostly – was it spiritual?” Jared Pellet asked himself, as he sat with strained nerves eager to catch the slightest sound. But now all was silent, and he listened in vain. Cold, almost numbed, he rubbed his hands together and left his place slowly, descending into the body of the church, confused as one just awakening from a state of torpor. Once he halted upon the stairs for a minute or two and listened; but he heard nothing, and continued his descent, telling himself that his imagination was wild and overstrained. Then pausing suddenly upon the matting which covered the nave, his heart’s pulsation seemed checked, for from the direction of the north door came all at once, loud and distinct in the empty church, a sharp metallic click; and then, at short intervals three more sounds each clear and sharp in the silence, as of money falling upon money.
At any other time Jared would have ridiculed as absurd the idea of being alarmed by supernatural visitations: the church at midnight was the same place to him, but for its darkness, as the church at midday; but now, broken, unnerved, and trembling in every limb, he stood by the south door as if fixed, listening eagerly.
For a while there was silence, so that he could hear his own heart beat, and he tried to make out what all this could mean. Was it – could it be – some strange influence of the mind caused by constantly dwelling upon the abstraction of the poor-box money? or had he really heard the chinking of falling coin? He was beginning to think, from the silence that reigned, that it was all a delusion. He strained his eyes in the direction, but they could not penetrate the thick darkness, and at last a bitter smile crossed his features, as he thought that his mind was becoming disturbed with trouble, and that while he was yet able, he had better seek home and try to rest. Should he walk across the church to the other door and see if there was anything? Pooh! it was but fancy – a rat, perhaps, under the flooring of the old pews.
Jared felt in his pocket for the key of the door, but it had slipped through into the lining. His hands were numbed with the cold, and he could not extricate it, for the wards were entangled with the rags.
But that was not fancy, that was no stretch of the imagination. There was a faint rustling noise, similar to that which he had heard at first, and now, apparently, coming towards him.
Jared Pellet was probably as bold as most men of his condition; but now, freshly awakened, as it were, from a strange stupor, in a dark church, at probably midnight, his blood seemed to freeze, and his teeth chattered with horror. What did it mean? What could it be – that invisible thing, that softly rustling noise, coming nearer and nearer? He could not even see the pew by his side. Should he go? The door was locked, and he could not get the key from his pocket; and besides, in the horror of that moment, he had stretched out his hands to keep off that something strange and rustling that came nearer and nearer, till he fancied that he could hear breathing, and then the rustling ceased, to be succeeded by a low dull beat, which he knew directly after to be that of his own heart.
But at last, as with a flash, a ray of light crossed his mind, which chased away all superstitious fancies. Here now, almost within his reach, was the robber of the poor-boxes returning from his unholy errand. The click he had heard was that of falling money; and the blood flushed to his face as he felt that now was the time for action – now was the moment which should decide his fate. How he longed for a light. The night before had been clear and moonlit, so that he could have seen distinctly; but from the snow-clouds, the darkness was intense. What should he do?
“Whoever it is shall not pass out of the church while I have life,” he thought, as he smiled at his superstitious folly. But, for all that, as he stood there, with arms outstretched in the intense darkness, his heart still beat violently. Whoever it was had evidently taken the alarm, and was listening intently. But now came once more the rustling, accompanied by a sound that Jared made out to be that of a hand drawn along the sides of the pews.
Closer, closer – he could hear the breathing distinctly; but again there was a halt, during which Jared remained motionless, till the rustling began again, and a hand touched his own.
All the blood in his body seemed to rush to his heart as he felt the contact of that icy hand; the superstitious dread came back; but he threw, himself forward, nerved, as it were, by despair, and clutched an arm, but only to be dashed violently back, trip over a hassock, and strike his head a sickening blow against one of the stone steps of the font.
That fall drove out the last dread of a supernatural visitation, and, springing up, Jared gave chase to the rustling figure, which he now heard half-way down the south aisle.
It was slow work in the dark, but Jared pushed on, now striking violently against some pew-door, now stopping half confused in the dark as to where he was; but there was the rustling noise in front, and as well as he could he followed up one aisle and down the nave, then along the other aisle, but apparently losing ground. The flying one was as corporeal as himself, that was plain enough, for more than once there was the noise of collision with open pew-doors, which banged to and then flew open again, ready for him to strike against violently.
Twice had pursuer and pursued made the circuit of the church, when, feeling that he had neared the flying figure, Jared sprang forward to grasp – nothing, for the noise suddenly ceased. He stopped to listen, but the only sound he could detect was the beating of his own heart.
This was unexpected. He listened again; no sound. He ran his hand along by the sides of the pews, first here and then there; he went forward, panting heavily the while; he came back, but he was still at fault. The quarry had doubled somehow, and escaped him for the time, and would perhaps reach one of the doors; and in dread of losing his opportunity, Jared ran hastily towards the south door, but only to recollect that there were the north, west, and chancel doors, through any one of which the fugitive might escape while he guarded the south. Then it struck him where he had been at fault: the enemy of his peace must have crept softly into an open pew and allowed him to pass. That was it, no doubt; and hurrying back, he was in time to hear the rustling noise very softly at the end of the north aisle, as though his enemy were stealing away. Swiftly as the darkness would allow he hurried on, and once more the chase began. They had passed round the church again, and Jared felt that he was gaining ground, when he caught his foot in the matting where it had slightly turned up, and fell heavily, to gather himself up again just in time to feel once more the rush of cold air upon his cheek, and hear the door locked just as he came up.
Jared’s hands trembled with agitation as he tore at his pocket to free the key, dragging out the lining; and then, as he held the cold iron in his hand, he could hardly find the hole, so that quite a minute had elapsed before he had dragged the heavy door open, stood amongst the drifted snow in the porch, and taken up the pursuit.
There, in the faint glimmering light, were the deep impressions of footsteps to the church gates, and Jared grimly smiled as he muttered to himself, “A heavy step for a ghost;” but no sooner was he outside the gate than his power of tracking his enemy was gone, for the snow was trampled with footprints crossing and re-crossing, while, though he looked up and down the street, there was nothing to be seen but the glimmering lamps, nor to be heard but the sighing of the cold night wind.
Suddenly he fancied that in the distance he saw a figure crossing the road, and dashed after it as hard as he could run. It turned down a street that he knew well, and, by taking a short cut, Jared felt that he should meet his enemy, if it was the object of his chase; so running down first one street and then another, he neared the bottom outlet of the place he sought, paused a moment to listen, and then could make out the dull deadened sound of coming steps in the snow, apparently nearing him slowly.
To dart round the corner, and grasp the new-comer, was the work of an instant, but it only resulted in his being grasped in return, for the organist was in the hands of the police.
“What time is it?” queried Jared, in a confused manner, as soon as he could open his lips.
“Time you was in bed, I think,” said the policeman; and Jared shrank beneath his suspicious looks.
Volume Three – Chapter Twelve.
Another Missing
“One o’clock, mum,” said Mr James Chawner, cordwainer, and member of the society of Campanological Brothers, commonly known by the soubriquet of Beaky Jem, tenor in St Runwald’s peal. “One o’clock, mum; it’s better nor ’arf past. But if you and Miss here is so wery oneasy, I’ll get one of my mates to rouse up and search the place; that is, if you like,” thereby clearly indicating that he – Beaky Jem of the Roman nose – did not much approve of the task.
“It is so very strange,” said Mrs Jared; “he left here to go to the church, and he must be there.”
“Why, bless your ’art, mum, he ain’t been there, or we must have heerd him in the belfry.”
“You’ve been there all the evening then?” said Mrs Jared.
“Ah! that we have, mum – ’leven of us, practising for Chrismus. We pulled grand-sire caters, ’sire tribbles, and s’perlative s’prise major. Never had a finer night, nor more beer up in my time.”
“But could you have heard the organ up in the belfry?” said Patty, who had been escorted home by Monsieur Canau quite late in the evening from the shadowed house in Decadia.
“Heard it! bless your ’art, yes, Miss, a rooring away sometimes loud enough to put yer out, and drown the one that leads and cries ‘go,’ when we makes the change, you know. That there organ ain’t blowed a note, nor there ain’t been no light in the church this side o’ eight o’clock. And besides, I seed the pleece a kickin’ and a cuffin’ of young Leathers for shyin’ snowballs at the busties.”
“Who?” exclaimed Mrs Jared and Patty in a breath.
“Young Charity, mum, young Ikey Gunnis. Howsomever, if it’s a coming to who’ll go, I’ll go, you know; but I’m afeard most of our chaps is about tight – just a little sunny, you know,” he added by way of explanation, “for the beer did run free to-night, and no mistake – and I hardly know who else to get, without it’s a pleeceman, and they’re so precious ’ficious. You see, people’s abed now; and I should ha’ been there myself if the young missus hadn’t come and roused me out. I was asleep aside the kitchen-fire when she come, for there was a sight o’ beer up the belfry to-night sewerly.”
“I still think that he must have gone to the vicar’s,” said Patty to her mother. “I knocked as loudly as I could at the church-door, and there seemed to be no one there.”
“Perhaps, after all, we had better wait another half-hour,” said Mrs Jared.
“Let me go with Mr Chawner,” said Patty, eagerly. “The Purkises may have come back now, and they would not mind giving us the keys. I dare say Mr Purkis would go with us, late as it is. He would have gone with me before, I am sure, had he been at home.”
“I don’t like disturbing people so late; but it makes me very uneasy. Do you think the little ones would be quiet while we both went?”
The suggestion now offered by Beaky Jem, that the governor might be “a bit on,” was, when interpreted, scouted with indignation; and it was at last determined that Patty should stay, while Mrs Jared and Beaky Jem went to Purkis’s for the keys, and then searched the church, with or without the beadle’s aid.
“Which he won’t turn out of his warm bed, bless you,” said Mr Chawner; “he’s too – ”
He did not finish his sentence, for as Mrs Jared, bonneted and shawled, stood with the others in the passage, there came a buzz of voices at the front door, and, directly after, a gentle double knock.
“There’s something wrong, Patty,” gasped Mrs Jared, holding her hand to her side, while the one apostrophised admitted Mr Timson, the vicar, and Purkis the beadle, all very muffled and snowy.
“Something struck me that you wouldn’t be in bed,” began Mr Timson; but he was stopped by the vicar, who brushed by him just in time to catch Mrs Jared as she was staggering to fall.
“Is – is he dead?” she gasped, recovering herself by a strong effort.
“Who? who?” exclaimed the vicar.
“My husband,” panted Mrs Jared.
“God forbid!” ejaculated the vicar, piously; “no, where is he?”
“He went out before six to the church, and he has not been back,” cried Patty, in agitated tones. “They were going now to search for him. Here – here he is!” she cried, as Jared made his appearance, pale and scared-looking, while Patty flung her arms round his neck.
“There, there, there! shut the door,” cried Timson, hastily; “it’s all right, it’s all right! And now, what do you want here, you sir? You’re one of the bell-ringers, ain’t you?”
“Right you are, sir,” said Beaky Jem, staring with all his eyes.
“Just so – just so. And now you’re not wanted, are you? No one wants you – eh? There then, take that, and be off.”
Mr Chawner took “that,” and went off – “that” wearing very much the appearance of a warm half-crown from Mr Timson’s pocket.
But before Mr Chawner was outside the door, he was muttering, “I knowed he was a bit on; but there was a sight o’ beer up our way to-night, sewerly.”
“We should have been here hours ago,” said the vicar, “but the train was stopped by the snow.”
“And he wouldn’t have come on till the morning, if it hadn’t been for me,” broke in Mr Timson.
“Let me speak, Timson – let me speak,” exclaimed the vicar.
“I won’t, I’m – blessed if I do,” exclaimed Timson, excitedly, altering the run of his sentence. “It was my doing, and Purkis’s here; and you know I made you come on to-night.”
The temperature was bitter, but upon Mr Purkis being referred to, he grunted as he stood behind the door busily wiping the perspiration from his head and neck.
“I won’t give up to nobody,” exclaimed Timson, pushing past one and then another into the little parlour, so that he might get to Jared.
“There, sir, – there, Mr Pellet! It’s all right, sir! – it’s all jolly, sir; and there’s my hand, – there it is. There’s both of them, sir, and hang the grammar. Shake hands, sir, – shake hands! There’s four honest hands together, and God bless you, sir!” and old Timson shook the tears into Jared’s eyes, while his own brimmed over from a different cause. “Now you may talk to him, sir,” said Timson, who, to further relieve his feelings, caught Patty in his arms and kissed her three times, – once on each cheek, and once upon her lips.
“I only meant one, my dear, but they were so good,” cried Timson, who seemed half mad, for he now shouted, “Hooray!” and tossed up his hat, kicking it, as it fell, right into the window, to the total destruction of the cracked pane of glass, with the dab of putty in the centre.
“I say, ‘Amen!’ to my eccentric friend Timson’s remark, Mr Pellet,” exclaimed the vicar, seizing the disengaged hands, and shaking them warmly. “Mr Pellet, sir, you have been an ill-used man, and I beg your pardon. The sinner is found. God bless you, Mr Pellet! I hope you forgive me.”
“O Mr Gray, sir! how could you suspect me?” cried Jared.
“Weakness, sir, weakness. I am but an erring man. We all err; and but for my faithful old friend Purkis, I should have gone on erring.”
Mr Purkis grunted again, and continued dabbing himself.
“He set me right,” continued the vicar, still shaking at the organist’s hands.
“And me,” broke in Timson. “I helped, to put him right. But there’s my hand, Mr Pellet – there it is, sir, and I’m glad to shake hands with you once more. I always wanted to; but I kept my hands to myself on principle, sir. But I always said it wasn’t you – I told him so, sir, scores of times, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
“O Timson, Timson!” said the vicar, reprovingly; “you know that you were one of the first to suspect him.”
“Well, how could I help it, when it looked so suspicious?” cried the churchwarden, fiercely. “Don’t get putting it all on my shoulders, John Gray – don’t, please.”
“Shake hands, Timson – shake hands; and let’s say fervently, ‘Thank God, it is all found out at last.’”
“So we will,” said Timson, “so we will; but really, you know,” he said, “if I had given my honest opinion – honest opinion you know,” and his eyes twinkled, – “I should have declared that it was that old rogue of a beadle of ours in the corner.”
Mr Purkis ceased his dabbing, and stared.
“But we could not afford to lose so great an ornament to our church, eh? Mr Gray, sir, eh?” he chuckled; and, by that time, Mr Purkis saw through the joke, and chuckled too, though he had at first thought it rather a serious matter.
Jared was too agitated and too unnerved with the proceedings of the past few hours to do more than shake hands again and again with his visitors. He wanted to tell them of his adventure at the church, but he could not speak; and besides, there were Mrs Jared and Patty looking perfectly astounded as they tried to interpret the meaning of the scene.
“There, there, there!” exclaimed the vicar, kindly, “It is late, and they want to be alone, Timson. Let us go, for you are such a boisterous youth. Let them be, Timson, and come away. But tell me first that you forgive me for my injustice, Mr Pellet.”
“Forgive you, sir!” said Jared, in a choking voice.
“There, there!” said the vicar, shaking hands again. “What does it all mean, Mrs Pellet? What! don’t you know? More reason for us to go. Come away, Timson, come away. There! you’ll wake the children,” he exclaimed, as a wail came from up-stairs. “Come away, and let Mr Pellet set the heart of his wife at rest. That’s right, Purkis, go first. We should not have been so late; but I was in the country when these two came down after me; and then the snow stopped us.”
“And he said it was too late to come on to-night,” cried Timson, again; “but I would have my way. There’s my hand, Mr Pellet, sir. There it is, and – there, I never felt happier in my life.” And to prove it, Timson made a charge at Patty, who escaped him, however, by running up to quiet the children, who were like skittles, and upsetting one another till there was quite a chorus.
“God bless all here!” said the vicar, fervently, by way of benediction, as he stood in the passage; and then they would have departed, but for Timson, who turned back to shake hands once more with Jared, exclaiming —
“There’s my hand, Mr Pellet, sir: I always declared it wasn’t you.”
And again, as Jared stood at the door, watching the two down the street, Timson turned again to shout, – “I always said it wasn’t;” while the gentle, reproving voice of the old vicar was heard to ejaculate —
“Oh, Timson!”
Volume Three – Chapter Thirteen.
An Accident
“No news,” day after day – day after day, till Harry was weary of repeating the words to the troubled father. Sergeant Falkner came often enough to repeat his story, that so far he had done everything possible; but that he had scent of something which he felt sure must turn out right.
At last Harry was wandering one evening towards Decadia, he knew not why, he said, but it always appeared to him as if elucidation of the mystery must come from that direction; and though he would not own to it, he made this surmise his excuse for going often to Brownjohn Street, seeing Janet but seldom – Canau often – quite an intimacy having arisen between the latter and himself.
Harry wandered thoughtfully on, till, nearing the end of St Martin’s Lane, he started back, for from out of a busy street there came a sharp rattling of wheels, a shout, a dull heavy sound; then the customary rush of sight-seers till a crowd had collected.
“There, that’s the seccun’ acciden’ I’ve seen at that there corner with my own blessed eyes,” said a man. “Them cabs comes cutting along fierce, never thinking as they’ve got anything to do but shout, and everybody’s to get out o’ the way in a instan’. If its panels as scratches, they pulls up; but if its human flesh and blood, drive on. It ought to be put a stop to – that it ought.”
There was a chorus of indignant acquiescent growls, though no one said what ought to be stopped; and Harry Clayton pressed forward through the swaying crowd, in the midst of which the shiny crown of a policeman’s hat was to be seen.
“Get a stretcher – Take him to the hospital – Poor creature!” exclaimed various voices; and then came a score of indignant commands: “Give him air! – Stand back, will yer!” – the speakers never seeing the necessity of themselves moving.
“Why don’t you look alive, and take him to the hospital!” exclaimed a strident voice again.
“Non – non! chez moi – chez moi!” groaned the sufferer.
“What’s he say? He’s foreign! Any one here understand Dutch? Anybody know who he is?”
“I do,” said Harry, pushing foward. “He wishes to be taken home,” just as, half insensible, the sufferer babbled a few words in his native tongue, to which he seemed naturally to revert; and then, under the young man’s guidance, poor Canau was borne to his lodgings, and a surgeon procured – one who came the more willingly upon Harry furnishing him with his address, and undertaking, if necessary, to defray all expense.
“I did try to get away; but I was confused, and stumbled; and ah! ma belle patrie!” muttered Canau, “I shall see thee no more.”
For the surgeon had made his examination, bandaged, and done all that was possible to ease the sufferer, and then taken his departure.
“I am hurt – much hurt,” said Canau, feebly, as he reached out a withered hand to Harry; “but I should like just once – ”
He turned his eyes towards a violin hung upon the wall; but when Janet eagerly reached it down, and Canau tried to raise the bow, his bruised muscles refused to act, and he shook his head.
“Had you not better try and sleep?” said Harry to the injured man, who seemed momentarily to grow more feverish and excited.
“Sleep!” he exclaimed, hoarsely, “sleep now? Shall I not soon sleep without waking? No, no – no, no! Look here! you are a gentleman – you have feelings. Listen! Years ago – many now – I fled from my country. I was sought for; I was called ‘traitor!’ But why? mon Dieu, why? Because I loved my rightful monarch, and would have seen him on the throne. But might is right, even as you say it here; and I fled to beggary and wretchedness amongst these poor – I, a gentleman – to drink at last to drown my misery, till I tried to live by my violin, and then I took to that poor child, saved her from misery and death, and now she loves me.”
Worn out at last, and half delirious with the fever from the injuries he had received, the Frenchman at last dozed off, when Harry rose to leave, wondering whether, after all, Canau knew what had become of Lionel, and hopeful that, if he did, his prostrate and weak state would offer opportunities for arriving at the truth.
As Harry reached the bottom, D. Wragg, pipe in hand, made his appearance, craning his neck, and thrusting his face forward in disagreeable proximity to that of his visitor, as in answer to Harry’s “Good night,” he exclaimed —
“I know!”
“Know what,” said Harry, sharply, his thoughts instantly reverting to Lionel, and the hope that if D. Wragg knew anything, now in his state of semi-intoxication, he might divulge some clue to the mystery that had troubled them for so long. But if D. Wragg possessed a secret, it seemed to be one from which he felt in no haste to part; for, with drunken solemnity, he merely shook his head a great many times, and then drew back softly into his shop, closing the door after him; but only to open it again a few inches, so as to allow the passage of his head as he muttered gruffly, throwing the words, as it were, at his visitor —
“Never mind!”